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by Lif61
Summary: The Impala is destroyed during a fight with a demon and an angel.


**A/N: Written for week 8 of SPN Hiatus Creations 2019. Prompt: Impala.**

* * *

"Sammy, look out!"

Sam dropped down low, dodging a punch aimed at his head, and a fist went right through the driver's seat window of the Impala, shattering the glass, getting it all over him. He closed his eyes, raising his arms up, trying to protect himself. Dean was on the other side of the Impala, fighting an angel, while Sam was fighting a demon.

They weren't too sure how it had happened. They'd been hunting the demon first, and Heaven had decided to get involved. Now, cornered in some back alley in the dead of night, their weapons locked in the trunk, they weren't quite sure how they were going to win this.

The Impala shook, Dean getting slammed back against it, and he cried out.

Sam was right at the demon's knees, so he wrapped his arms around them, lunging at him, yelling with fury. They got on the ground near the tires.

A hard blast of metal soon made itself known to the back of Sam's skull as the demon slammed Sam's head against the rim of the tire. However, his vision didn't grow blurry, surprising him. Sam got a leg over him, holding him down with it, and punched him till he was senseless, and he ran to the back of the Impala.

Dean was already doing the same, grabbing the angel and slamming them against the trunk, denting it, while trying to unlock it. Sam shoved the angel aside, kicked the demon as he got up and came over, and finished unlocking it for Dean.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"Yep."

Dean was bleeding from a cut on his scalp that was going into his eyes, and one on his cheek.

Sam had yet to take any wounds like that, but his head was throbbing.

They got weapons from the trunk: Sam the demon-killing knife, and Dean and angel blade, but they ended up tossing each other the opposite ones, having to trade as the angel went after Sam, screaming that he was an abomination, and the demon going after Dean, a twisted smile on his face, eyes black. Sam heard Dean mis-aim and drive his blade through the back window.

The angel tried to punch Sam, drove his fist through the driver's side window in the back.

The Impala was a mess of broken glass now.

As the fight wore on, the Impala became covered in dents from the super strength of their enemies, and Sam and Dean tried to get in to take refuge in it, but they battered at the metal frame, even ripped one of the doors off.

The Impala was ruined by the time the demon and the angel lay dead in puddles of blood. Dean sat in the driver's seat, bleeding from wounds on his face and his arm, a dislocated shoulder and wrist already swelling up, and Sam sat in the passenger's seat, trying to work some feeling into his thigh that one of their adversaries had tugged the wrong way, and bleeding from slashes to his torso, and his right arm, and a few cuts to his face.

"Wow," Dean commented. "If I didn't know better I'd say those suckers were on steroids."

"Maybe they were," Sam said, looking at the destruction of the only thing they'd been able to really call home their entire life.

"Either that or they just really hated our guts."

"Or that."

* * *

The Impala had to get towed. Too bad Bobby wasn't alive or else he'd be able to take care of it, but no Bobby meant having to deal with other human beings. Dean was grumpy about it, which was putting it lightly.

The mechanics told him the Impala was totaled, he yelled at them, demanding they fix it up enough so he could drive it home safely. They demanded extra pay. So Dean was found in bars hustling pool, drinking, but not losing his edge. In fact, it made him have more of a bite to him. Sam kept trying to get him to cool down, to rest, to maybe take care of his injuries, to at least let the dislocations heal properly, but Dean wasn't hearing it.

His Baby was going to get fixed _now_.

They got a room at a different motel in town in case any of the other sons of bitches decided to track them down, and there they stayed until the Impala was ready to be driven back to the bunker.

She wasn't pretty yet, Dean decided, not back to her usual self, but he ran his hand along the hood, murmuring to her, "Don't worry, Baby, I'm gonna get you all fixed up."

So he drove, and she didn't quite have her usual purr, and it set Dean's teeth on edge, and he ended up blasting music to drown it out the whole way back to Lebanon.

Once there, he and Sam set to work, playing rock songs from the 80s while they worked, only in t-shirts and jeans, getting grease on them, talking, even enjoying themselves.

It took awhile, and they had to break the project down into days, a couple weeks even — Baby needed a lot of maintenance — but when they were done they stood before the Impala, which looked like it'd just rolled off the line at the factory back in 1967, all shiny and black, brand new, and already well taken care of, loved.

The two brothers sat on the hood and enjoyed a beer.

Their home was okay and solid again.


End file.
